


the struggles of a modern identity

by chahakyn



Category: The Home and The World - Rabindranath Tagore (1916)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn
Summary: Sandip always wants things; Bimala usually has no qualms complying. That changes now.
Kudos: 1





	the struggles of a modern identity

**Author's Note:**

> this is a modern, james bond-style spy adaption of a scene of the 1916 indian novel "the home and the world" ([ ঘরে বাইরে ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Home_and_the_World#Characters)). it was my final project for my comparative literature gen ed class and i liked it enough that i thought i would share!

“Bimala!”

Bimala starts as she sees Sandip rise from the seat in front of Nikhil’s desk, lips quirked into a smile.

“Sandip, I didn’t know you would be back so soon,” She returns his smile easily, holding her hand out to clap his back. He takes it and kisses it, prompting a surprised but pleased noise out of Bimala.

“Anything to see you, my Queen.”

Bimala laughs, waving her hand. “You tease me with such sweet words.” She sets her bag down on her own desk a few feet away before turning to Sandip.

“What can I do for you?”

“Your presence here is enough,” Sandip replies smoothly. An amused smile curves at Bimala’s lips as she beckons him closer, away from Nikhil’s desk.

“Seriously, Sandip. You and I are busy people. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Sandip strolls to stand next to her desk, looking at her carefully before diving in. “Everything is ready, success is at hand, but we need information.”

Bimala tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Information? What…kind of information?” She pushes down the urge to twist her fingers together nervously, schooling her expression into calm neutrality. But Sandip can still sense her unease; he _always_ knows.

“Bimala, Bimala…You’re smarter than this,” he croons, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “You know what direction this needs to go in.”

“You…you want the codes?” She leans her weight against the edge of her desk, lifting her gaze to meet his. One look into his eyes and she knows that is exactly what he wants.

Sandip does a very good job of hiding his emotions; that’s what makes him such a powerful, but dangerously risky ally. He does have a weakness, however; a tell, as all cunning people do. He cannot hide his greed. It simmers beneath the surface, just barely hidden by Sandip’s calculating exterior. But the moment something he wants is just within his grasp, that insatiability leaps to the forefront, pooling in his gaze and swallowing any who are foolish enough to acquiesce to his sly demands.

Bimala sees this very look in his eyes and frowns, uneasy. “You know I can’t do that, Sandip.”

“And why not?”

“You of all people should understand my job, what it entails. You’ve known Nikhil, you’ve known how this works for years,” Bimala says haltingly.

“I have known _him_ for years. I cannot say the same for you,” Sandip responses resolutely, his gaze trained on Bimala.

Bimala makes a frustrated noise. “Our jobs are the _same_ , we are partners—"

“But you are not the same person.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Bimala sputters, “You know our duty, what we do for India. I can’t just _give away_ information—"

“Listen to yourself Bimala. Always India this and India that. But not India, the people. India, the government, the country. When will your loyalty for that farce end? You must think of the people, yes? Your loyalty, your duty to your _people_?” Sandip steps around her desk so that they are face-to-face, eyes glinting predatorily. He leans closer to her, closer than is proper for two coworkers, two _friends_ , even. His warm breath brushes against the shell of her ear as he murmurs,

“You’ve heard the whispers. You know what needs to be done, hm?”

Bimala winces internally. She _has_ heard the whispers. Government resources falling short, unable to help those truly in need. Whistleblowers going missing, those fighting for change being disposed of in secret. She knows these things happen; what government doesn’t face these things? But she keeps working for them, doing their bidding.

Why?

She and Nikhil have discussed this many times, the topic so common between them that she can feels the metaphorical ruts in the path of their conversation every time it comes up, the words comfortably worn from rolling over their tongues countless times.

They’ve deliberated at the outdoor cafes, slouching into borderline uncomfortable metal seats as they keep keen eyes locked on their target. While staring at the shadowed ceiling of yet another dingy hotel in the endless string of foreign lodgings, passing a bottle of cheap liquor back and forth. Even in the field, barking short quips back and forth, (“Why did we sign up for this job, Nik?” “Who knows, Bimala,” Nikhil sighs into his comm in her ear, his statement punctuated by two sharp gunshots. “Who knows.”)

Their conclusion is always the same: the chance to make a change in all the bad is too good of an opportunity to pass up. India may not be the greatest, but she has room to grow. To change, for the better. And both she and Nikhil have agreed time and time again that they are confident in this change, sure that their work strives toward that improvement in every way possible.

That’s not to say that Bimala has her doubts about her work. “Is it worth it?” is the most common of the bunch. These thoughts crop up every so often; constant criticism of the government everywhere she turns doesn’t help matters much. She never lets what she hears shake her outward support, but she does collect the opposing arguments and hold them close to her chest, weighing them in her regular internal debates over the worth of her work.

There are some rather convincing arguments against the government, she will admit that much. But her desire to do what is right usually sides with her current work, and she keeps on moving forward, day by day.

Sandip always has his ear to the ground, and he knows what the people want, what is best for them. He is a valuable ally, an asset in their work to be sure. But does that kind of knowledge outweigh the importance of her work with the government? Will giving him what he wants be the right thing to do in the long run? Can she put _her_ faith in Sandip?

Bimala pauses, thinking back quickly to a conversation she’d had with Nikhil a few months prior.

_“How…is Sandip?” Nikhil stirs his tea with a spoon, fully focused on the task. He doesn’t look up._

_“He’s good? You saw him last week before he left, just as I did.”_

_Nikhil shrugs, still staring at his tea. “Mm. But… you know him better than I.”_

_“Nikhil, that’s ridiculous. You two have known each other far before I came alon—”_

_“Is it? Span of acquaintance means nothing in the face of intensity.” Nikhil finally looks up, his gaze hard. Bimala scoffs, waving her hand._

_“What do you want to say? When you get poetic, you’re beating around the bush. I know_ you _, that much is certain.”_

_Nikhil’s gaze softens and lowers, his normally calm demeanor pushing aside the harsher persona he takes on in the field. They’ve worked together for a few years, Bimala knows these things about her partner. She knows him._

_“I think… You are your own person,” Nikhil hedges. Bimala sighs internally, bracing herself. Nikhil is a good teacher, to be sure, but his fault always lies in his suggestions and advice being veiled in delicate concessions._

_“I am not endeavoring to tell you what to do—"_

_“What if I’m asking you to?”_

_Nikhil sighs, fingers tightening on the handle of his cup. “I would…be more careful around Sandip. He is cunning, and an advantageous tool. But he is a person. And people are complex.”_

_Bimala’s brow furrows. “Just say what you mean,” She says, impatience thinly veiled._

_“You know how ambitious he is. He will stop at nothing to get what he thinks he deserves. Even from you.”_

_Nikhil’s gaze meets her eyes again, and Bimala sits up straighter, attention caught. Nikhil is dead serious; she knows from the look in his eyes that he is going to say something she had better hold on to._

_You need to decide where you will draw the line for yourself. He certainly won’t draw it for you. He will stop at_ nothing _. If you want to make the right decision, you will have to trust yourself fully. Have no doubts or he will swallow you whole.”_

Bimala starts back to the present, looking at Sandip nervously. “Nikhil said—”

“ _Nikhil_? What does he know?” Sandip scoffs, pulling away. He gives her a look that could almost be coded as disappointment, and _that_ makes Bimala’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Sandip backs away casually, his steps measured as he circles around her desk. His gaze never leaves her.

“Nikhil this and Nikhil that. I thought you were a modern woman Bimala, and yet you lean on him so heavily. Like a common housewife.”

“You have _no_ right to say that,” Bimala hisses, quietly furious.

“Don’t I?” Sandip tilts his head, expression innocent. “Think for yourself Bimala, don’t let people’s opinions cloud your judgement.”

Bimala opens her mouth to protest but closes it when she remembers Nikhil’s words, mirroring Sandip’s.

 _Think for yourself. Trust yourself fully. Have no doubts_.

Trust in herself? Well, if she’s to start with that, she’ll want to address Sandip. His actions today are so strange, words sharp like barbed wire and malicious in their intent as his eyes gleam with a hidden satisfaction.

Though, that look is not quite new on him, is it? Bimala knows that look, the look of smugness he’s tried to hide in his gaze for the past few months. If she were to pinpoint their origin it would have to be…When she and Nikhil had started working on this newest mission, wasn’t it? A mission full of secret intelligence, movement of important documents. The kind where covert signals, acting normal in plain sight of the enemy, and engaging in quiet information transfers in the dead of night commonly occurred. Sandip’s forte to be sure, and he had appeared at just the right time to save them from a nasty situation early on.

Bimala frowns. He… for all accounts and purposes, should not have been there to rescue them. But who questions such a blessing in the face of death? Bimala tries a new angle thought. If Sandip is asking for the codes now, would it be so ridiculous to assume he had been after the codes all along?

And with that thought, it hits her. Everything Sandip has done makes sense if the end goal is obtaining the codes and not their continued partnership, as she and Nikhil had thought. She can see the pieces slotting together in her mind’s eye with a final click, like the loading of a gun pressed to her temple. She _knows_ now.

Hurt and betrayal well up inside of her, but she pushes it down, promising to sort it at a later time.

“Well, if you want me to think for myself,” Bimala says, raising one brow, “then I suppose you won’t mind if I refuse your request for the codes, then.”

Sandip’s eyes narrow. “Bimala—"

“No,” she holds up her hand, giving him a cold look. “I see how this is now.”

“If you think that assisting India entitles you to confidential information under my care, you would be wrong. Please leave.” Bimala jerks her head towards the door, hard expression leaving no room for argument. Sandip bares his face in a scowl, stepping towards Bimala until they are nose-to-nose.

“You _will_ regret this,” he snarls. Bimala stands firm, gaze unwavering in the face of Sandip’s fury.

“Perhaps. But that is my choice to make, my burden to bear.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on[ tumblr ](https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/)!


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